


Eclipse

by OneforAll



Category: The Musketeers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-13 02:43:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5691604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneforAll/pseuds/OneforAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>At long last, chapter one for my Arathos first timer</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> At long last, chapter one for my Arathos first timer

Athos woke with a start and took a few seconds to orient himself. A smidgeon of pre-dawn light was creeping in through the curtain and under his half-closed eyelids. He shook himself slightly, shifting in the chair where he'd spent the past hour, feet resting on the edge of the bed where Aramis slept. He judged that the sun would be up in about half an hour, so it wasn't worth trying to sleep any more. The first sight that greeted his eyes as he opened them properly was Aramis; he had positioned himself for just that purpose. His friend, he was pleased to see, was still deeply asleep. After the battering Aramis's body had taken during his fall from Marmion's castle, the more rest he got, the better. 

Aramis had been able to mount up for the journey home after yesterday's attack but even then he hadn't looked too steady. The royal party had had to pause about a third of the way through their journey back to Paris when one of the horses on the King's carriage lost a shoe. As the musketeers pulled up to a halt behind them, Aramis had swayed dangerously in his saddle, and might well have fallen had Porthos not been able to quickly pull up alongside him and support him. The dark man had also managed to jar his dislocated shoulder in the process and gave a wince of pain. Aramis looked deathly pale. Adrenalin and willpower had kept him going up to this point but his reserve was nearlyl used up and it was obvious that in this state he was going to have trouble making it back to Paris without difficulty. D'Artagnan and Athos had exchanged anxious looks and Athos had been about to move towards the royal carriage, when Treville, who'd been behind them, rode up. 

Though not in command anymore, the former Captain's instincts to care for his men were still ingrained in him and with a little nod to Athos he said he'd take care of the matter. He'd rode forward to speak to the King, reminding them that two of the Musketeers had sustained injuries during the rescue and asking if they could have time out to rest up. There was an inn in a village just a little way ahead which should be suitable. Treville requested that they be allowed permission to stay there for one night with Athos and d'Artagnan to assist them. 

Treville was immensely grateful to the Queen, who looked at her husband, placing a hand on his arm. 

"My dear, these men have incurred hurts, to ensure our safety and wellbeing. Surely that is a small thing to ask for those who risk their lives in our service?" 

The King, feeling chastened and guilty for his misdemeanours in the wake of the Marmion affair, had agreed readily and with good grace, and Treville had rode back to the Inseparables with the news before their monarch had the change his mind. Aramis had started protested that he was all right and could make it back to Paris but had swayed again and nearly lost his place in the saddle. A few firm words from Treville and Athos had stilled his objections. 

"Terrible patient!" Treville had said, exchanging an amused look with Athos as d'Artagnan got down from his horse and mounted up behind Aramis, who by now was looking close to collapse. With the Gascon's support the marksman had been able to complete the short journey to the inn. Just as they were about to split off from the main party, Constance had come hurrying up to them and pressed a small bag of gold coins into Athos's hand. 

"A little something from her Majesty," she'd said with a smile, "To ensure they're properly cared for." 

The Queen's gold had helped pay towards their accommodation and a doctor's visit. The physician's examination had confirmed that although severely bruised no lasting damage had been done. He had left them with salve for the bruises, instructions for Aramis to rest up as much as possible for a few days and a draught to ensure a good night's sleep. His advice for Porthos was much the same. They hadn't been able to get a room large enough for all four but two decent double rooms were available. Athos and Aramis had taken one, Porthos and d'Artaganan the other. 

The doctor's draught had done its work well, Athos thought. It looked as though Aramis had slept deeply. The handsome features in repose took on the elegance and serenity of one of those alabaster angels one saw in churches, he found himself musing, shocked and smiling inwardly at the whimsical imagery, and the notion that popped into his mind immediately afterwards. 

*Oh sweetheart, you are going to be one very sore angel when you wake up!* 

The little endearment had surfaced from somewhere deep within him, creeping past defences built years ago, that he had once believed stood strong and impregnable. Instead of trying to push the feelings back down, he let it linger in his mind; savouring the unfamiliarity, the almost illicit pleasure of it. He also allowed his eyes to feast on Aramis's slumbering form. 

He shifted, trying to get a little more comfortable, taking care not to disturb the other. Aramis needed all the rest he could get, and he himself needed whatever time was left before either his friend woke or the others came in to check on them. He wanted to order his thoughts and find some perspective on yesterday's tumultous events. 

The day of the eclipse. Historically considered a time of great moment. One of nature's most impressive spectacles: light becoming dark, then light again. 

Athos had been thinking about light and darkness as he drifted in and out of sleep. About his own life; past present and future. Also, his thoughts stirred by reports of Marmion's conversations with the King, about destiny, about choices, and their consequences. 

And it had indeed been a momentous day. The capture, torture and rescue of a king. A large event, surely, in the overall scheme of things. And other incidents, trivial perhaps in the grand sweep of history but writ large in Athos's own. 

Of a movement of misjudgement. The lack of an extra sword. The placing of an awning. And the smallest of things, a gesture of tenderness, that might have the power to alter his life. 

He had also been thinking about the past few weeks. How on coming back from Pinon, he had been a little lighter of heart, knowing that at last he'd done something for his people, made a difference for them. He'd reached a compromise he could live with without having to give up the place he'd found in the musketeers and the brotherhood he'd come to depend upon. Aware of freshly opened wounds, his friends had quietly gathered around him, offering subtle but palpable support in the form of extra companionship or shared activities. there for him most of all. Aramis had been there for him in a big way, in spite of the burden of his guilty secret about the Queen. Athos could see the pain in his friend, even though it was well disguised by the marksman's usual bravado. He feared it might drive him into the arms of the church: a path he had thought would be completely wrong for Aramis. So he had tried to offer his own support, and felt the appreciation coming back from the other. Even if it never found its way into words, it was there in the warmth of a smile at the end of some shared joke; over good times lingering longer than needed over a drink. On their return from Pinon, Porthos had told them of some new lodgings he'd heard of as becoming available near the garrison: a set of good rooms that were perfect for a share. For various reasons such as an upcoming rise in rent on Aramis's accommodation and Treville's approval of the idea, they'd been persuaded of the wisdom of the plan. They'd moved in about a month ago, and so far it had worked out very well. They'd been considerate of each other's privacy but had both benefitted from the companionship. In the light of the continued irritation at having Milady as the King's mistress, a sight he had to endure regularly when on palace duty, Athos in particular had been grateful for the other man's ability, quietly, without a fuss to offer company, warmth and cheer. 

Athos also remembered the conversation he'd had with his mentor, Lord Philippe, who he'd know since boyhood The nobleman owned an estate a few miles from Pinon and had been a good friend of his father. He had recently retired to Paris after an illustrious career in the army, giving them the chance to get together occasionally for dinner. Word had filtered back about the recent events in Pinon and Athos had not been surprised to find himself getting an invitation. 

"That Renard has always been a bad lot," the comte had commented. "Giving the rest of us landowners a bad name. You did a good job there, my boy. I knew that one day you would have to go back. I have always felt it would be good for you to do so, but it was not my place to press the matter. But now," Athos remembered the nobleman's eyes crinkling into a smile, "I think perhaps you may be able to find some peace. And also think it's the time to say what I have always thought. Let go of the past; at least the darker aspects of it. I know that won't be easy, but I don't think it's impossible. That wife of yours casts a long shadow--but don't allow her to hold you back any more. And remember--next time you give your heart, give it to someone who deserves it." 

Yes, a long shadow was an apt way of describing the effect of the woman who'd blighted his life for so long. She was, in her own way, akin to a force of nature--like the shadow of the moon covering the sun in the eclipse. A fitting analogy for what she had done--or rather, what he had allowed her to do --to his soul. 

He had a sudden image of her, perhaps cast in one of those silly court tableaus the King favoured, as Selene, goddess of the moon, or Diana, queen of the hunt, and of her pulling it off with massive aplomb. He wasn't sure if the idea made him want to laugh or weep. Oh yes, Athos would have loved to forget, and without the aid of a bottle of wine: an accessory he knew was ultimately futile but sometimes the only anodyne to hand. But it seemed that over this past year, fate kept throwing her in his path. 

An exceptional woman. As beautiful, seductive and spirited as ever, but like a twisted version of the girl he'd fallen in love with; the viciousness, the duplicity, the selfishness now clearly on display. Lately, she had been even more of a thorn in his side than usual. Having to watch her on a regular basis parading around the court as the King's lover. He'd stood by looing at it for weeks. But yesterday as the royal party prepared to leave to watch the eclipse, the thought of being a bystander to this parody of a happy family outing, with his wife at the centre of it, had turned his stomach. And in what he still considered a moment of selfish weakness, he had allowed her to influence him again, and deserted his duty and the people he cared for. 

His friends had tried to persuade him otherwise. Last night, when they'd been talking over the day's events, he'd offered them all his apology. Every one of them had waived it away, showing complete understanding. They had said that if they'd been in his shoes, they'd probably have felt and done exactly the same. 

"Don’t know how you stood it so long, man!" Porthos had said in that gruff, honest way of his and the others had all backed him. That, of course, was the quality of the men he'd picked as friends. Aramis, as ever, was the most perceptive, the most difficult to dissemble in front of. Later, when the others were gone and he was helping Aramis off with his doublet, the other had fixed him with one of those quiet, intense looks of his. 

"It's still eating you up, isn't it? That you weren't there with us at the ambush." 

"It was petty and cowardly of me," Athos had found himself saying. "I broke our code." 

"So, you are, in fact, human." The beguiling eyes had twinkled for a moment with wry humour. "Even Athos, the legendary musketeer, can make a mistake now and again. It is allowed, you know." 

"But my presence might have made a difference," he had protested, knowing that he still sounded tormented. He was well aware that as the group's leader, it would normally have fallen to him to challenge Marmion, perhaps he who might have been pushed out of the window. He would have far it had been him who was the victim of the demented astronomer rather than Aramis. 

"Who could have seen that today, of all days, a madman would choose to seek revenge on the royal family? Only God knows such things. And no-one else, even one so accomplished as you, is omnipotent , or all-seeing?" 

This earnest yet humorous exclamation from the former would-be priest made Athos smile unaccountably. 

"Are you interpreting the views of God for me now?" 

Aramis put a hand on Athos's arm, encouraging him to sit beside him on the bed for a moment. 

"Well, I do have some small knowledge in the field." There was a flash of the beautiful smile, then Aramis continued with quite conviction. "Please do me the favour of never mentioning your name and the word cowardice in the same sentence again. I learned nearly everything I know about courage and honour from you, as did the others. Why do you think we look to you to lead us? Please also credit me with some brains and do not try to persuade me otherwise. I know the truth when I see it with my own eyes." 

Athos found himself very moved by the display of loyalty and desire to offer comfort from a man who was himself battered, physically and spiritually, even now trying to hide his wince of pain as he turned towards Athos, holding his gaze to reinforce his point. 

"I hear you," Athos said, trying to match the other's quiet sincerity. "Now, if you are willing to concede to these so-called leadership skills of mine, will you please lie down and rest? I am not convinced of the evidence of these supposed brains of yours," he'd added in a gently hectoring tone as he helped Aramis swing his legs up onto the bed and rearranged the pillows so he could settle more comfortably. "This from a man who fell off a 60 foot building and immediately climbed back up it again. Courageous? Undoubtedly. But perhaps," he teased, "A touch insane?" 

"Perhaps. A little," Aramis conceded with a chuckle. "We do what we must. It does tend to come with the territory, doesn't it?" His eyes locked with Athos's, almost daring the other to deny that he hadn't done equally risky things in his time. 

"I don't think I can argue with that," Athos said, cocking an amused eyebrow at his friend. "An occasional bout of lunacy is almost a job requirement." 

"And almost to be expected," Aramis countered, never one to miss the chance of a quip. "It was, after all, a lunar eclipse!" 

They found themselves laughing and looking at each other in complete understanding: men for whom risk was a regular business. The atmosphere felt lighter, freer, and Athos found himself just bathing for a moment in the warmth of the man who'd always had a power to cheer him. 

"One good thing that might have come of all this," Aramis had commented a little later, when he was settled within the bed and gratefully accepting a drink that Athos had handed him. "Milady may soon be gone. Hopefully somewhere far away, unable to bring you--us--" he added for emphasis, "More trouble." 

Indeed, thought Athos, coming back to the present. The goddess had fallen from heaven, in the most sudden and unexpected manner, thanks to the King's guilt and caprice. Athos was still getting to grips with the idea of it, that she really might disappear from their lives, along with her ability to cause grief. It was ironic, when for once she had done nothing to deserve the banishment; when they had all steeled themselves for the prospect of her having praises heaped upon her for her part in the rescue, and her grip on the King increasing. 

As Aramis had commented wryly. "Strange, isn’t it, how sometimes the right things happen for the wrong reasons?" 

Whatever she had done, or not done, to deserve her fate, Athos felt no sense of triumph in it. He only felt numbness and a vague sense of pity. His mind, soul, emotions were all focused on the man lying on the bed next to him. 

The memory came again, as he had known it would. It was going to take more than one largely sleepless night to wipe the vivid recollection of yesterday from his mind. Receiving the news of the attack on the royal party, and Aramis's possible demise. Milady, of all people, to deliver the words that had ripped him apart inside. A trick? It was always a possibility with her, but there was an urgency, an intensity about her manner tha suggested it was true. Then there was the effort to appear calm, in control, as he and Treville had quickly organised a rescue party. 

Aramis, lost? It was hardly the first time he or the others had ridden out, not knowing if they'd find one of their number alive at the end of the journey. But a fall from an upper floor window? The horrible possibility that it might be real. That brave, beautiful Aramis, with all his vitality, his wit, his warmth, was no longer in this world. Chills had gripped Athos's stomach. There had been times during the years after Anne's betrayal, the very darkest moments, when he had felt like a man on a ladder suspended somewhere above Hell, hanging on with one hand. During that ride, he had felt like he was hanging on by a nail. 

But he had to concentrate on not betraying the barest hint of what he was feeling to the others who were riding with him, and particularly to Milady. Because of her, he was not where he should have been today, with his brothers, where his presence might have made a difference. He had made a vow to himself that this was the last time he would allow her to influence him like this. He had even found himself praying to a God he had thought deserted him long ago to have spared Aramis, kept Porthos, Constance and d'Artagnan safe. After that there was nothing to be done but to spur his horse on faster and focus on being ready for whatever awaited him at the end of the journey. 

Well, perhaps God had indeed provided the miracle he had asked for, for there was Aramis, alive and intact, on the bed only feet away from him. A greater likelihood, he reflected wryly, was that if there was a supreme being, and He had a heart, there had to be a special place in it for this complex, unique being, and that He was not yet ready to gather him up. 

Athos could almost imagine the former would-be priest chiding him for having the arrogance to imagine that he could know the mind of God. The earnest, almost sweet expression that came over Aramis's face when he was talking of such matters. 

Whether it be God, destiny, the Fates, Athos looked upwards and mouthed a silent "Thank you." 

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	2. Chapter 2

Athos blinked as the growing light creeping in througn the chink in the curtain hit his eyes. He heard movement from the room below: one of his brothers, possibly answering an early call of nature, Most likely d'Artagnan, usually an early riser. The vigour of youth, he thought with a little smile. The Gascon might be the last to join their group but he fitted so well with them, it felt like he'd been with them forever. And he'd brought Athos one of the few bright spots in what had generally been a very dark day. It had made him happy to see that d'Artagnan had at last fully won Constance's heart. It was good to see young love, pure and genuine. Constance was a beautiful woman, within and without; her sweetness and strength came shining through. He thought it highly likely that the match would last. He had also found himself musing for a moment on what his life might have been like if he'd fallen for a woman like Constance, instead of Anne. He veered away from the thought, not wishing to mar the good feeling that came when thinking about the young couple. 

He'd also found himself remembering moments from last night, when they'd all gathered after the doctor's departure, pulling up chairs around the bed where Aramis was resting with a pillow at his back. It was customary for them to share a post-combat drink and chat ; it helped them to unwind and reassert their bonds. But tonight they were more sombre and soul-sore than usual. The atmosphere needed to be lightened and it was d'Artagnan who'd found a way to do it, after he'd filled goblets from the bottle Athos had brought them: the best the house could offer. 

"Good choice, Milord!" He'd sat back in his seat, taking an appreciative sip of the wine and directing a smile at Athos. "And very appropriate, since our friend Porthos is now moving in higher circles , and will be developing superior tastes Who knows," he mused with mock chagrin, "When we three will share a drink with him again?" 

Porthos looked at him in puzzlement. D'Artagnan exchanged a tiny sideways smile with Aramis. 

"Ah, indeed!" said Aramis, taking up the gauntlet with a sage nod toward Porthos. "For now he has bonded through adversity with my Lord Rochefort, no doubt they are best friends and the company of lowly musketeers is no longer tolerable to him." 

Athos decided it ws time to pick up the theme; Porthos's baffled expression was irresistible. 

"Yes, it is a sad thing--for us of course, but not for Porthos. Think of the opportunities it will afford him!" 

Porthos put down his glass, folded his arms and stared at them. "Have you all taken leave of your senses? Now you," he threw a glance towards Aramis, "I can understand--you fell off a building and probably hit your head. But you two!" His gaze swept over Athos and d'Artagnan. "Is it this bloody eclipse or something? Does anyone think I would willingly spend time with that sewer-rat?" 

"Oh, dear!" Aramis tut-tutted. "What a way to speak of your new comrade. Think of the advantages you could both gain from such an association. The things you could share!" 

"Your expertise in the more....interesting parts of Parisian nightlife?" d'Artagnan suggested. 

"Master classes in sneering?" offered Aramis. 

"And smarmery, of course," Athos found himself adding, "Which you will need when you are moving in more rarefied social strata." 

"Yes, yes!" By now Porthos was groaning and shaking his head, knowing he was being royally sent up. "I'm choosy about the company I keep. Besides," he'd cocked an eyebrow towards Athos, "I already hang out with the nobility." 

"But I'm of lower rank," Athos countered, with a twinkle in his eye. 

"You've got far more class," Porthos said lightly but candidly, and Athos found his gaze held while his friend gave him a smile and gracious nod of his head, and a lifting of his goblet. 

"Amen to that!" came Aramis's soft rejoinder, and Athos became aware of the other two echoing Porthos's salute. Athos felt a lump rising in his throat, for he knew his friends' intent: to draw him back into the healing warmth of the circle; to let him know that what he perceived as his letting them down today did not signify. It was impossible to do other than to acknowledge it by inclining his head with equal grace and raising his goblet to them. They all took a moment to have a drink. 

"On reflection," Athos had said, after taking a moment to compose himself, "It is Porthos who displays better judgement here, and his company that is too good for the likes of my Lord Rochefort. It is his fortitude which should be toasted--for enduring the company of that rogue!" 

Then there had been a proper clinking of glasses over Aramis's bed, and a lot of congeniality and amusement as they joked about the King's questionable taste, as his Majesty actually sought out Rochefort's company of his own volition, where as Porthos commented, in his case it had been a matter of chains rather than choice. 

The healing of the circle. They settled back, chatting and jesting a little longer over their wine. In due course, d'Artaganan had passed among them with the bottle for anyone who wanted a refill. 

Athos had only taken about a third of a measure, wanting to keep a clear head for looking after Aramis later. He noticed a pensive look creeping over d'Artaganan's features as the younger man had leaned towards him. "What is it?" he asked softly. 

"Oh, just couldn't help thinking over some of the stuff Marmion was saying today. About destiny and choices. Stuff like that." The Gascon had been present during the entire proceedings. They all turned to look at him, remembering how he'd suffered as much as anyone today, watching the life of the woman he loved held in the balance. 

"Don't let it trouble you," Aramis said gently. "The ramblings of a madman. Those matters are probably best left to others such as--" 

"Philosophers and churchmen?" Athos finished for him, and a little smile passed between them. A old joke, from years of discussions sitting over a bottle, putting the world to rights. 

"All right, you don't need to say it!" d'Artagnan held up his hands and gave a self-deprecating laugh. "As a philosopher, I probably make a very good musketeer. But after a day like today," he continued more soberly, "It does make you wonder, when it comes down to surviving. Is the dye caste? Or is it like Marmion said--all about chance? The roll of a dice; the flip of a coin. Well, I think there is something you can do to load the odds in your favour." His gaze had encompassed them all. "It's about how you choose your friends." 

A feeling swept over the group. Complete empathy: glad to have got through this day intact. Even more grateful to have got through it together. Aramis, the one who had perhaps teetered closest to the edge of the precipice, had found some kind of voice to the wordless emotions dancing around the room. 

"If that isn't worth raising a glass to, I don't know what is." And they'd all followed his lead. 

However, all too aware of the exhaustion on Aramis's pale face, Athos had suggested that perhaps the next drink he had should be the sleeping draught the doctor had left. The marksman hadn't given a murmur of protest as Athos had leaned over to take his goblet and the rest of them had taken it as a signal to draw back their chairs and gather up the goblets. Athos had helped Aramis settle a little more comfortably, adjusting his pillows, and made his way over to the table where d'Artagnan was already taking the stopper out of the bottle of sleeping draught and pouring water into a clean goblet. As he mixed it, the Gascon had volunteered to help spell Athos in his vigil over their friend. 

Athos had assured him he'd be fine and that the younger man would be better occupied in making sure Porthos, who'd also suffered injury, got a proper rest, and not long afterwards had bid both his friends goodnight. 

That night, the only place Athos had wanted to be was by Aramis's side. 

 

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	3. Chapter 3

Once again the sound of movement from the bedroom below jolted Athos back to the present. 

"Please boys," he found himself thinking. "Don’t come to check on us just yet. At least give me till the sun's properly up. " There were a few more footsteps then it went quiet. Whichever of the lads had been up, they'd presumably decided to grab a bit more rest when they had the chance. Athos shifted again in his chair. He'd need to be up shortly himself, ready to offer any help Aramis needed once he woke up. The other was bound to feel more discomfort today; the bruising would be coming out. 

He'd rather have gone through that window in Aramis's stead than have to watch him hurting like this. He shivered slightly, not sure if it was the early morning cool or the memory of yesterday's averted horror. He was glad of the reprieve of a little more solitude because he needed to be ready in more ways than one for what he'd do when his friend awoke. He needed to think over last night's events, and the small action that could have such large repercussions on his life. 

When the others had left, Aramis had downed the sleeping draught. "You're staying?" he asked softly as he handed the goblet back to Athos, who guessed he must have overheard some of his aside with d'Artagnan. 

"Not going anywhere," Athos assured him with a little smile as he turned down the lamp beside the bed. The softer light cast shadows that accentuated Aramis's fine bone structure; the grateful, pleased look in his dark eyes. It was obvious that he wanted to talk a little more. A sense of intimacy settled round them and although the circumstances might be strange Athos could sense the other was also taking some pleasure in the sense of trust and closeness that pervaded the atmosphere. 

They had spoken a little of the events at Marmion's castle; about Athos's sense of failure over his deserting the group; about Milady's possible departure. They paused when Aramis asked for a drink of water. When Athos came back with it, he saw a shadowed look hovering on his friend's face. 

"What is it?" he asked, his hand touching the other's arm. He had an idea of what might be troubling Aramis: the substance, if not the detail. 

Aramis let out a long breath. The look in his eyes told Athos this was a matter of trust, solely between the two of them. 

"it's about the Dauphin." 

"I thought it might be." There it was, the subject that had hung between them for weeks, unmentioned: almost a wordless truce since they moved in together to share lodgings. The secret only Athos was party to, among the people who were close to Aramis. 

"We've spoken about this before," said as calmly and levelly as he could. "You know what I think. Whatever the Queen has said to you, she must have taken action on returning from the convent to account for any repercussions. There is a fifty/fifty chance that the boy is the King's." .  
"Which means that there an equal possibility that he is my son." There was a sombre, weary tone in Aramis's voice. "I have done my best to live with the knowledge that I would never have a real part in his life. Go about my business, do my duty. For what else can I do? The situation is--" 

"Impossible," Athos finished for him. "As you say, what else can you do?" 

"But today, after I got back into the castle and was helping the Queen and her ladies to safety, I got to carry him for a few moments. Then of course we were back in the thick of it, as usual. But...I can’t help thinking about it. That that is the closest I might ever get to a child who may be mine. That it is all I will ever know of him." 

There was a look of pure anguish and pain in the other's eyes that honed in on Athos's heart; made him almost want to weep. 

"That is not an easy thing to bear," the nobleman said, laying his hand over his friend's and squeezing it. "For any man who thinks he might be a father." 

Aramis was trembling with the strength of the emotions coursing through him. 

"I'm sorry. This is my burden, not yours. My actions, my transgression, and me who has to bear the consequences..." 

"That may be true," Athos said. "But don't be sorry. There's nothing I know in any rulebook that says it's wrong to seek a little understanding from a friend. He took a deep inward breath before continuing. He'd decided in that moment to share something that very few people knew about; that he'd never spoken of since starting his new life in the musketeers. "I want to tell you something. In the first year of my marriage to Anne, she fell pregnant. About halfway through her term, she lost the child." 

Aramis's eyes widened in horror. "I had not idea..." he whispered at last. 

"Well, it is not something one speaks of," Athos responded, with a sad little twist of his lips, "Like so much from that time." 

"What was it? Did you know--?" Aramis asked hesitantly, his whole manner full of concern. 

"Yes. It would have been a boy." Athos lowered his head. "Although he never lived, not properly, it was long enough for him to be real to me. Feel the first kicking in her belly. To start to have hopes, make plans--" He'd thought himself in control of this when he brought it up. But a little series of images had popped into this mind. Those months of her pregnancy, like the crown of glory on a golden life; a future that could only be better and brighter with the addition of a child. He put a hand over his eyes and took a moment to gather himself.. 

Aramis's hand had come over his, with a hard, firm pressure. The dark eyes looked up into Athos's, burning intensely with compassion. 

"I'm so sorry. For what happened. For bringing it all up for you." 

"Don't be," Athos assured him. "It's just that I haven't spoken of it for a long time. It's not the same, of course. Your situation is...rather unique. I just wanted you to know that I might have some idea of how you are feeling." He sighed. "At that point in my life, I'd never known sorrow like it. I thought she was feeling the same. Then not long after, I found out I didn't know her at all. And the rest you know." He stretched a little, trying to get rid of some of the tension that had formed in his neck and shoulders: a feeling that often accompanied thoughts of that period in his life. He exhaled slowly, trying to let it go. 

"At least my child is alive. If indeed he is mine," Aramis murmured. "I know I should be grateful for that. And that he is well cared for." 

"No child in France better so," Athos reminded him. "That is something you must never lose sight of. And yes, it cannot be easy for you to watch from a distance. Naturally, you care, and that does you credit. I would expect no less. But you really don't have a choice here. For to give away anything of this could be to endanger the child, the Queen, yourself. The future of our country. You know that, don't you?" 

"Oh, I know. Believe me." His serious expression spoke of the weight of the secret on his soul. 

"Remember something else," Athos continued, hoping he could help alleviate some of that sorrow. "Today, because of you, the Dauphin is safe. It was a good and courageous thing you did and you should be proud of it." 

"What else could I--" Aramis protested. 

"Aramis." The word was gently uttered by Athos, but it was still a command. "You should be proud of it. And you and the rest of us will continue to serve him, to watch over his safety, for as long as we are able, will we not?" 

Aramis just nodded, looking too choked to speak, returning the pressure Athos had applied to their joined hands.. 

"Now, I know every one of us has made the wrong choices sometimes," Athos went on to say. "Things that are difficult to forget, or to live with. But, eventually, we all have to find a way. Don’t they say the past is another country? I think you just have to....learn how to make your peace with it." 

"Can you?" Aramis asked, his concern for Athos quite clear in spite of the still somewhat troubled look in his eyes. "Make your peace with the past, that is?" 

"Well, as was evident today," Athos said with a tiny wry smile, recalling his reaction to Milady's presence in the royal party, "There is sometimes a gap between reality and expectation. I said nothing about it being easy. But," he added with resolution, "I am trying." 

"Well, maybe we can help each other?" Aramis said, pressing Athos's hand again. 

Oh, you help me just by being in this world, Athos thought, mesmerised by those glowing dark eyes; a wave of pure love going through him. 

"I think we already are," he replied gently, and was rewarded by a little lift of the corner of the other's mouth. He was also aware of the tiredness washing over his friend's features, and an involuntary flicker of his eyelids. The sleeping draught was obviously beginning to kick in. "But now, my very tired friend, I think you need some rest." 

"But It's so good when we can talk like this....Just us..." Aramis protested but there was deep underlying exhaustion in his voice. 

"For me also," Athos assured him. "But I will be here tomorrow and any other time you need me to be. And now, you really need to sleep," he said quite firmly, "Or you will feel worse tomorrow." 

Aramis was about to protest but Athos gave him a commanding look, and a little quirk of his eyebrow, almost daring him to challenge the suggestion. 

Amaris demurred, shifting himself so he could burrow down beneath the sheets. Tired though he was he managed to retain a teasing gleam in his eyes. 

"Has any of us ever told you that sometimes you can be a little--" 

"Bossy?" Guilty as charged, he thought, not entirely able to keep the smile from his lips. But if you all look to me for some kind of leadership, what else am I supposed to be? "Porthos might have mentioned it once,"" he said with calculated nonchalance. "But he was quite drunk." 

Even though he was fighting to keep his eyes open, this brought a definite smile to Aramis's lips. 

"Quite?"  
"Now I come to think of it, he was VERY drunk," Athos added, tugging Aramis's pillow straighter, pulling up the bedding a little further to make sure he was warm. Any little gesture that meant the other felt cared for, would rest well. Just as Aramis, in his capacity as healer, had done so often for him. 

Aramis gave a snort of amusement, but it turned into a massive yawn 

"Sleep!" Athos urged softly. "I'll be here to watch you." 

The other struggled to hold Athos's gaze, not wanting to let go of the specialness of the moment but he couldn't fight the power of the draught anymore and his eyes closed. 

Athos found himself letting out a long, ragged breath. Asleep at last. He had thought the moment that Aramis was at rest would give him some sense of peace, of closure on the day. Instead, now he was finally alone with his thoughts, he found himself starting to unravel within. The fears, dread, emotions he'd held back since the ride of Marmion's castle came crowding in on him. He began to shake slightly, mind filled with an image of Aramis's body, lying broken on the ground. He blinked, trying to dismiss it, Such a close thing this time. He'd seen the inside of the castle. If it had been the next window along, there wouldn't have been any awning to catch his friend and brother. 

He took hold of one of Aramis's hands which was lying outside the bedclothes as he watched the lamplight flickering over the handsome, serene features, over dark eyelashes: the play of light and shadow. Somehow, that was what today had been all about. The fine line, the terminator, between life and death, darkness and illumination. 

if Aramis had not survived today, for Athos it would have been like an eclipse that never ended. There would have been blackness and desolation in him, far deeper than anything he'd suffered at Anne's hands. The reality of it sank in; the rawness of the feelings kept private for so long. 

Philippe's advice: next time, to give his heart to someone worthy of it. Well, my heart is already given, he reminded himself. He permitted the thought to surface from where it had been kept so long in the deep reaches of his soul. A decision made when embarking on a life as a soldier, that the love of men was a road not to be travelled; that it could lead to complications that his tender heart was not ready to contemplate. Yet despite his resolve, bonds had been forged, friendships made; relationships too precious, too vital to risk. Most of all, with this one. 

The thought came to him that the face before him really should be captured in marble or bronze. And would not such a likeness rival the finest classical sculptures in beauty? He found his hand brushing hair away from Aramis's temple, careful to keep his touch light. No, too cold, perhaps, he mused. For sculpture wouldn't convey the vitality in those eyes, the fire. To do so would be a challenge even to the finest of painters. 

His hand continued to stroke down Aramis's cheek. I love him, he thought. I'm in love with him. In the end, it was that simple. Almost as if watching himself from a distance, he felt his head inclining and he placed a gentle kiss on the other's brow. On his temple, then on his cheek. Finally, in a moment of impulse, a tender little farewell, he placed his lips on Aramis's: the gentlest of kisses. 

He was about to withdraw when he felt something. The slightest of answering pressure from Aramis's lips, so small he wondered if he'd imagined it--or wished it. Something like a little sigh, a sharper exhalation of breath. Athos sprang back, his heart rate surging. He'd believed the other to be totally under the effect of the drug. Just as he started to think he'd been mistaken about the response, there was a pressure on his hand, fingers squeezing his. The grip was slight, but it was there. After a moment, however, it faded. Aramis's breathing settled into a deeper, more regular pattern and it was apparent that now he had fully succumbed to sleep. 

Athos found himself trembling, dry-mouthed. Heard the blood pounding loudly in his eardrums, taking a deep steadying breath. Knowing that this was one of those moments when fate hung on a cusp. When the effect of one small action could spread like a ripple, changing the course of a life. Had Aramis really been aware of anything that had just occurred? And if so, would be remember it? If he did, would it just seem like some hazy dream, the effects of the sleeping draught?

There had seemed to be some sort of response, of acknowledgement. Or was he just interpreting it the way he'd like it to be, he wondered. He found he was still trembling slightly. The churning feeling in his gut, to his surprise, wasn't so much of fear, but of excitement.  
What if that small squeeze of the hand been acceptance, rather than rejection? If that was so, it opened up all sorts of possibilities that made Athos's mind spin. What, however, if in his drugged state, he didn’t realise it was Athos who'd kissed him, and thought it was someone else? What if he woke up and didn't remember anything at all? 

All sorts of scenarios went winging through Athos's mind. He had to order himself to stop, force some sort of calmness on his roiling emotions. He was not going to know what the other's reaction would be till morning. Aramis might remember, or he might not. But either way, Athos knew this was a moment there was no turning back from. For even if Aramis didn't recall what had happened tonight, it was time he knew, Athos decided, That I don't just love him as a friend, but in every way. If not tomorrow morning, then soon, at the next proper opportunity, I need him to know. Then take my chances about how he'll react. It was a gamble, of course, to take the chance that Aramis might be able to think of him in another way. A risk that he could lose his friendship, trust--that he'd feel repulsed by Athos's desire. The fear that had paralysed him for years. 

And yet, after their closeness tonight, the secrets exchanged, he had a hope that Aramis wouldn't reject him as a friend, even if he didn't have the capacity to return that desire; would understand Athos's reticence in revealing his true feelings. 

The irony struck him, that all his friends looked to him as some sort of exemplar of courage, yet he'd been immobilised; held in stasis by memory of past pain, from reaching for what he really wanted. And he was tired, sick to his heart, of lurking in the shadows; in the cold of moonlight. Weary to the bone of just surviving, not living. 

So this is it, Athos, he reflected, then corrected himself. He had thought of himself by that name these past few years; the persona that was him, but only in part. This is it, de la Fere. Time to stand up and be counted. He knew he'd crossed a Rubicon in his mind, and somehow felt calmer, a little more at peace. 

"Give your heart to someone who deserves it." 

I'm not sure that I deserve you, he reflected, looking at the face of the man on the bed, but I can certainly do my damnedest to try. If there's anyone worth taking a risk for, it's you. He leaned over, cupping the side of Aramis's face in his hand, careful to keep his touch light. The other stirred in his sleep but was too deeply under now to be disturbed; he looked peaceful and settled. 

Putting one's destiny in someone else's hands. At least it wasn't passive acceptance of fate. Unlike Marmion's theory, there were choices; ones which must be made if one were to live, not merely survive. There was nothing for it but to wait till Aramis awoke and see how it played out between them. 

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	4. Chapter 4

A wave of exhaustion swept over Athos, his limbs all of a sudden feeling almost too heavy to lift: the day taking its toll. Now that Aramis was settled, he had better try to get some sleep himself. He pulled off his boots and unfastened his breeches, putting them over the back of a chair. Then, taking a spare blanket, he climbed onto the bed, moving as carefully as he could so as not to disturb Aramis. He lay down on the space next to his friend and pulled the blanket over him. Turning his head slightly, he allowed himself one last look at Aramis's profile, illuminated by a stray shaft of moonlight that had crept through a gap in the curtains. 

However awful the day had been in parts, this was not a bad way to end it: looking on what he regarded the epitome of male beauty, safe and at rest. Athos closed his eyes, taking heart in the memory of the way Aramis had strode to stave off sleep, wanting to hang on to the moments of closeness between them as long as he could. The nobleman felt a twinge of hope go through him as the darkness wrapped around him; felt taut, tired muscles start to relax. He was aware of the heat emanating from Aramis's body; the steady rise and fall of his breathing; the distant hooting of an owl. And though he thought he might have trouble getting over, sleep claimed him very soon afterwards. 

He had slumbered through till the first grey glimmers of morning light. Waking with a jolt of disorientation , his eyes flickered open to look upon the form of Aramis. And what better sight was there to awaken to, he thought, a tiny smile lifting the corner of his mouth. 

And what would it be like to wake up to it every day? The next thought came unbidden, with a tendril of hope from last night also coming to life again. It was accompanied by anticipation, fear, nervousness that all curled into a knot in the pit of his stomach. He forced himself to breath steadily again. No point in pre-judging anything, either glory or disappointment, until the proper time. The important thing for now was to check that Aramis was all right. Pale, certainly; more than Athos liked, but still sleeping well. The more rest Aramis could get, the better. 

The mundanity of a call of nature called Athos from the bed. When he returned he decided not to risk disturbing his companion so he'd pulled up a chair, put up his feet on the edge of the bed and threw a blanket over himself for warmth . He'd rested, dozing off and on and thinking over yesterday's events. 

His reverie was broken by sounds from the bedroom below: movement and the murmur of voices. His friends were in the throes of getting up. After all, the sun was now up. Aramis had moved a little, shifting against the pillow. Probably not long until he was also awake. Athos hauled himself to his feet and walked over to the dresser. He slashed his face with a little cold water from the pitcher and bowl resting there. Now, more than on any other morning of his life, he needed to be alert. He estimated he had a little time before the boys got themselves ready. Porthos's shoulder was still likely to be painful, he thought with sympathy, and d'Artagnan would most likely have to give him a hand getting dressed. Athos resumed his seat by the bed. and noticed Aramis breathing was quickening. The other was starting to surface now and would likely be feeling the effects of yesterday's fall the moment he was awake. No more hiding, Athos reminded himself. He looked within and found himself still resolved to stick with the decisions he'd made last night. That didn't help settle the butterflies that were doing a wild dance in his stomach. 

Like a swimmer coming up from the depths, Aramis was surfacing, eyelids beginning to lift . Images and sensations flickered through his mind as the fog started to clear. He remembered the feeling of closeness as he and Athos had discussed deep personal secrets, then getting drowsy. Then, just on the verge of sleep, the feeling of Athos's lips on his hair, his face, his mouth. His mind went into freefall and he closed his eyes again, needing a moment to process this small but vital sliver of data. He went over it again and though there was fuzzy quality to the memory, he was convinced it was real. A shiver of pleasure ran through his body and permeated his very core. Another shiver ran through him, along with an involuntary groan as his other senses kicked in and the aches in his body began to manifest themselves. He exhaled deeply, trying to hang on to the other memory; kept his eyes closed for a moment longer to gather himself and his resolve. He felt years of dreams, hopes, frustated yearnings gathering into a ball in his gut. His instincts were telling him that if he didn't act on this, a moment quite like it might not come again. 

When he opened his eyes, it was to see Athos leaning over him as he'd done last night. Aramis winced slightly he turned his head to get a better look at his friend's face. 

"Sore?" asked Athos, as he reach across to give Aramis's hand a sympathetic squeeze. 

"Oh yes!" The marksman gave a wry grimace as he shifted against the pillow. "I am, rather!" The dark penetrating gaze fixed on Athos, who felt his heartbeat increase exponentially. 

"Good morning," the nobleman murmured, with what he hoped was not too shaky a smile. 

"Oh. Is that the only greeting I am to receive?" Aramis asked, the teasing drawl in his voice belying his inner nerves. "As I recall, you said goodnight with a kiss? Am I not to have one to say good morning?" 

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	5. Chapter 5

Athos had played various versions of this scenario in his head earlier and had actually managed to convince himself that he would retain some element of composure. But on hearing those words from Aramis, he momentarily lost the ability to think, or even to breath. The power of speech also deserted him temporarily but at last he was able to let out a husky whisper. 

"You remembered. And you did not...object?" 

"Object? Aramis shook his head slightly and gave Athos the softest, most tender of smiles. "There isn't ….anything in the world I would object to less than a kiss from you." He reached up to touch the other's arm. "Athos..." 

There was something in the way Aramis said his name, the warmth and longing in his voice, that acted like a siren call to Athos's senses, and reverberated through his being. That, and the look in the dark eyes, so mesmerising, that he was powerless to do anything but go with the impulse and lean down towards Aramis, who was raising himself on his elbow and inclining his head so they could kiss. Their mouths met. Aramis's lips parted with alacrity as Athos pushed his tongue between them and the moist heat awaiting him within along with the tongue that curled around his in welcome; in fiery but tender caress. 

Everything else receded, past pain, doubt, fear, till there was nothing but the moment: the taste of Aramis, deluging Athos's senses, headier and more potent than the finest of wines. He felt his heart thudding as their mouths opened wider to each other, tongues probing deeper, hungry for each other's touch. Aramis's hand had come up to the back of Athos's neck, pulling him closer, as he kissed back harder, anything to deepen and prolong the delectable contact. Athos felt his blood heating, flowing molten, rushing like quicksilver towards his groin where his cock leapt to life as a sweet throb went through it. As he pulled back for are moment, reluctantly, but needing to breath. He could see desire also reflecting back at him in Aramis's flushed face, his dark, burning gaze. 

"Now that," the marsksman whispered, "Is a much better way to say good morning." And the smile he gave Athos was as bright and beautiful as the sun coming up. How could that smile be so sweet and yet so lascivious at the same time, Athos wondered in the distant corner of his mind where coherent was still possible. He found himself moving out of the seat and sitting on the bed, desperate to be closer to Aramis.  
Aramis was also breathless, having moved from no hope of this ever happening to the exhilirating reality, found himself overwhelmed by the power and intimacy of the kiss. He increased his grip on the back of Athos's neck, drawing his companion down for their mouths could fasten on each other again. This time their lips opened eagerly, hungrily, tongues meshing and caressing; the contact intoxicating. Aramis sucked hard on Athos's tongue. His cock, already throbbing from the first kiss, pulsed vigorously within the confines of his braies. Desperate to have Athos closer to him, he moved further up the pillow so he could pull the other into his arms. The moan of pleasure rising in his throat turned into a groan as his bruised body protested at the movement. 

"Careful!" Athos said with concern, pulling back a little. "You're still healing. We shouldn’t--" 

"Don't care!" Aramis said emphatically, tugging Athos into an embrace. His aching torso seemed like a small inconvenience when compared to the imperative need drawing him to kiss Athos again, wrap his arms around him, haul him closer. "Want you..." he murmured, his voice a thickening purr of longing as in spite of, and uncaring that he was stiff and awkward when moving, he shifted further across the bed, making a space for Athos next to him. "Please.." 

The naked desire in the other's eyes and voice made Athos's already overloaded mind and senses reel,, drawing him inexorably to swing up onto the bed and stretch out beside Aramis. The marsksman rolled onto his side and towards Athos. The moment their bodies were touching along their full length felt blissful, felt right. Each could feel the other's erection where their groins pressed together. 

Their mouths joined again, the kisses deeper and more intense. Aramis ground his pelvis provocatively against Athos's. The friction felt delicious and Athos heard himself emit a moan of pleasure as desire kindled even more fiercely, threatening to escalate to conflagration. 

"Aramis..." The velvet growl, the sheer longing in Athos's voice, stoked the other's lust even faster, made him feel all the more wanton. Whatever his previous dreams and fantasies of how this might be, the reality of having Athos in his arms, getting hard for him, completely overwhelmed him. He lifted one of Athos's hands to his lips, kissed the palm, then guided it down to his erection. 

Still caught in a lusty haze of disbelief, Athos felt the evidence of Aramis's arousal pulsing hot and rampant through the material of his braies. His touch grew firmer and more confident as he stroked the outline of the other's cock, spurred on by Aramis's husky, fervent entreaty. 

"Oh Athos, yes! More...that's so good..." 

Athos leaned in to fasten his mouth on Aramis's again. There was a moan of pleasure and neither was sure who emitted it. So lost were they in the fevered glory of the kiss, lost in each other as they explored every millimetre of each other's mouths, savouring each other's taste. 

There was a noise from downstairs. They both heard it: d'Artagnan saying something to Porthos. It penetrated their lusty fog, and they broke the kiss reluctantly, pulling back slightly and exchanging rueful looks. 

"The others...they'll be down soon..." Athos murmured hoarsely. 

"I know. Maldicion!" The dark, fiery gaze pierced Athos's soul, as did the passionate whisper. "Want you so much, Athos. Have for years..." 

"And I you!" The words came tumbling out of Athos's mouth. A feeling of pure joy as strong as the desire coursing through his body swept over him.  
"For years."  
Although those words made his cock pulse harder, they also had the effect of clarifying his thoughts. That phrase said everything. That this was much more than lust. That his own feelings were reciprocated. 

"Have you? Really?" There was something completely entrancing about the smile Aramis gave his lover: full of hope and wonderment. 

"Really!" Athos assured him, and because that smile deserved a kiss, his tongue made another incursion into the warm sweetness of Aramis's mouth, making the contact as tender, as loving as he could. That was the adjective his fevered brain sought, he realised as his teeth nipped softly at Aramis's tongue. Loving...For although the passion still surged hotly in his blood, mind and body had reconnected, coming down from high alert status. 

"If we have waited... this long..." he murmured, words punctuated by little nips at Aramis's lower lip, "Could we not..." Tongues entwining again, coaxing, an eternal dance neither wanted to end "Wait a little longer...until we have real privacy...back home in Paris?" 

Aramis looked at him, eyes slightly unfocused, filled with a passion-glazed, almost youthful vulnerability that tore at Athos's heart. "You really want that?" 

Athos lifted one of Aramis's hands, and mirroring the other's earlier gesture, kissed the palm and pulled it down to his own groin, between their close-pressed cocks. 

"Really. Can’t you tell?" Athos found himself, grinning then laughing, feeling lighter, freer,than he'd done in what seemed like forever. "Isn’t this worth...savouring?" 

"Savouring." Spoken in Athos's velvety, impassioned drawl, the word, with all its implications, penetrated the deep reaches of Aramis's being. Something worth returning to. Something that wasn't transitory. 

"Is that a promise?" Somehow it didn't come out as the teasing seductive whisper he'd used with other lovers, but more hopeful, needy. He hadn't felt so raw or exposed since his teens, since Isobel. And yet there was part of him that didn't care; already knew he was in the safety net that came courtesy of their close-knitted brotherhood. 

"Promise..." Athos murmured, sealing it with another kiss; the tender headiness of it going through Aramis's mind, body and soul. 

"Yes," he answered, though it wasn't really necessary. A feeling of trust and assent had already been shared in that sweetest of kisses. 

They were looking at each other with little smiles when a knock came at the door. Even though they were half-expecting it a small jolt of surprise went through them. The sound called a close to their passionate interlude, for the moment. Aramis couldn't help but let out a slightly rueful sigh. 

The sound of knocking was repeated and d'Artagnan's voice reached them through the door. 

"Athos, it's just me. Are you up yet?" 

They looked at each other again. Their mutual arousal was still very much in evidence where their groins pressed together. A huge grin began to spread over Aramis's face and he felt the laughter rising up inside him. 

A bubble of amusement was also threatening to surface in Athos. "Behave yourself!" he hissed, seeing the gleam forming in the other's eyes but he just couldn’t stop himself smiling. 

"Yes, I'll be there in a moment," he called to the Gascon, trying to project some semblance of normality into his voice. 

"At least you didn't tell him you were coming!" Aramis gurgled, looking totally delicious; his face glowing, gaze bright and teasing. 

"Later for that!" said Athos and with one last quick touch of his lips to Aramis's , he managed to extricate himself from the embrace and climb to his feet. 

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	6. Chapter 6

Athos attempted to regain some sense of lucidity. His arousal was still quite apparent. Knowing he couldn't answer the door like this he quickly grabbed a blanket off the bed and wrapped it around his waist, then flung one end over his shoulder so that the drapes gave the maximum cover for his embarrassment. At the same time he tried to enfold the aura of his customary calm around himself as he quickly walked to the door and unlocked it. 

"Good morning, d'Artaganan." 

"Morning, Athos!" D'Artagnan sported his usual air of early morning sprightliness, which Porthos had named his "Puppy bounce." However, he did look slightly bemused on spotting Athos's blanket. "I...just came to see how Aramis is, and should I get breakfast sent up?" 

Generations of noble blood flowed in Athos's veins and he called on every drop of it in order to summon an expression of sang-froid. 

"I was just about to have a wash," he declared. "Aramis slept well, and yes thank you, having breakfast sent up would be very helpful." 

His efforts to project the idea that nothing was out of the ordinary were rather marred by the sounds of half-stifled laughter coming from behind him. Already feeling slightly giddy with joy, the sight of Athos's blanket, draped around him like a toga, frayed the last of Aramis's precarious control. He started to gurgle and couldn't stop. 

"'Morning, 'Mis!" d'Artagnan called to his friend. He could see Aramis lying on the bed, body shaking his laughter. "Something tickled your funny bone?" 

"Oh, just Athos's--new sartorial style!" Aramis replied. Athos turned and gave him a quelling look which only made things worse. "I think he's going for the Roman emperor look!" 

"How is Porthos?" Athos asked, in an attempt to restore sort of sobriety. 

"Still a bit sore--and a lot more grumpy than him!" The Gascon grinned at Aramis. "Glad you're feeling better, 'Mis!" 

"Except it...blood hurts...when I laugh!" Aramis exclaimed, grimacing as his body protested at the shaking.

"I think Porthos's theory about him being hit on the head may have been correct," Athos observed drily. The ludicrous aspects of the situation were starting to get to him too and he fought very hard to retain his equanimity. "D'Artagnan, would you please give our regards to Porthos, and if you could arrange for breakfast to be brought up here in the next half an hour, come up and join us."

"Will do," d'Artagnan said. "I'll go down and put the order in then give Porthos a hand getting dressed. See you later." He half-turned, then looked back at Athos. "Nice blanket!" he commented with a cheeky smile which grew even wider as the other returned his look with stoic patience, raising an eyebrow. 

D'Artagnan hightailed it along the corridor, grinning to himself as he retreated. 

Athos closed the door behind him and turned to look back at Aramis, who gave him a broad, teasing smile. "It suits you. You look like you belong in the Senate!" He sobered slightly as Athos came to sit beside him on the bed , and favoured him with a slightly admonishing look . "I'm not laughing at you." He gave the other a sweet, melting smile. "I'm just...happy." 

It was impossible to remain too stern when seeing that glow in Aramis's eyes. Athos took hold of friend's hand and squeezed it. 

"I'm glad to hear that." There was also a twinkle in the nobleman's gaze. "But you are not helping my attempts to appear circumspect. It might be best if, for the moment, you looked a little less happy. I would rather like us to be able to assimilate this ourselves," and he lifted Aramis's hand to his lips and kissed the palm, "before our friends know of it. Now, we really need to get on. You should have some more of that salve rubbed into your back and then we need to be dressed before breakfast is brought." 

"You're right. I promise I'll behave myself. Till we get back to Paris." Aramis said with an under the lashes look, then a wolfish smile. "Once back there, I promise, I won't behave myself!" 

Athos felt his cock twitch again. A smile of fond exasperation touched his lips. 

"You are going to drive me to distraction, aren’t you?" 

"Not on purpose," was Aramis's reply. "But there is always a possibility!" 

And there was the magic of that soft smile, the darkly glowing eyes, undoing Athos again. Years of reinforcing walls within the fortress he'd built inside his soul, undermined by a few minutes of stolen kisses. And yet there was something stirring in his chest, like a bird taking flight after too many years in a cage that made him reply "That's a risk I can live with." Though said with dry humour there was a wealth of meaning in the look he gave Aramis. The promise of what was to come later gave him enough strength to pull away without taking Aramis into his arms again and let him begin the mundane tasks of getting ready to face the day. 

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Outside in the corridor d'Artagnan had been walking along thinking how strange and atypical the whole encounter with Athos and Aramis had been. Athos had presented his usual aplomb but there was something a little brittle and out of place about it. Then there was Aramis's not so quiet hysterics . 

If I didn't know better, he thought with an amused shake of his head, I'd almost think I'd happened on some sort of liaison. 

He stopped, mid-stride, feeling all the air going out of him like someone had punched him in the stomach. What if he really had stumbled on a liaison--ableit an interrupted one? Could it be...? Could it possibly be that yesterday's traumatic events --the near-loss of Aramis--had pushed Athos over some kind of precipice? Made him declare the feelings that the Gascon suspected had existed between them for years. 

Well, goddamn it! He thought, as he stood stock-still, a huge grin spreading over his face. Of course he could be completely wrong. Building castles in the air. But if he wasn't....then he and Constance weren't the only couple for whom yesterday's events had brought love into sharper focus. 

And if so....he had made a promise to himself a few weeks ago on the road back from Pinon when he'd had his first glimmerings of how his brothers might feel about each other, that he would help and support them in any way that he could. He'd learned with Constance that the path to finding love wasn't an easy one. And he wanted them to know their heart's desire, especially Athos, who had been an anchor and mentor to him since the dark days of his father's death. 

He'd seen Aramis quaff the sleeping draught last night before he left his friends. He'd administered an equivalent dose to Porthos not long afterwards so knew from the other's man's reaction that it was unlikely Aramis had been awake very long. If something had developed between the pair there wouldn’t have been time for anything of real significance to have happened; no wonder they'd looked quite so...discomposed. 

In which case the best thing he could do for them was allow them a bit of space to work things out between them. He determined to keep his silence for now, keep his eyes open and if and when he thought it appropriate then maybe he could speak of it. But only if he was sure. 

He was still chuckling at the thought of Athos's blanket as he walked down the stairs towards the room he shared with Porthos. The big man, who knew them so well, would probably work it out for himself before too long. And if he questioned why d'Artagnan was wearing such a big smile this morning--well, Constance had just declared she loved him in the most definite of terms so he had every reason to look happy. 

With another little grin to himself, he crossed his fingers and wished his friends all the luck the fates could bestow on them. 

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	7. Chapter 7

The golden light of a late summer evening was bathing the little square in front of their lodgings when Athos returned from the garrison. It was still warm and he took a moment to sit on a low wall to unbutton his leather doublet and pull open his shirt further at the neck, allowing the breeze to play over his throat and upper chest. A background buzz of chat and laughter floated over from the inn across the way. By now the meal he'd called in earlier to order should have been delivered to their rooms. 

He glanced at the staircase, thinking of the many times over the past six weeks that he'd climbed the stairs, sometimes with Aramis, sometimes alone, often with a pleasant and unaccustomed tingle of anticipation, because often it meant spending time with his friend. The idea of actually coming...home to someone, instead of an empty set of rooms with a bottle for company had been strange at first but the speed with which he'd adapted to it had surprised him. Aramis's easy manner had help smooth the way and they'd soon found themselves creating rhythms and routines for sharing the same space. When they last made this journey together two days ago, it had been as friends. Now he was entering as a potential...lover. 

His head reeled, as it had done several times that day. And a huge wave of anticipation rippled through him. He was no longer accustomed to feeling a genuine sense of eagerness; of longing for something. He had kept a rein on such things, because he had known the elation of the highs and the crash and burn of the lows, and learned that it was easier to stay neutral, stay safe. But now there was a need in him, unlike anything he'd felt with Anne. Not that dreamy, youthful ardour, but an imperative. Wanting to lose himself in Aramis, like he'd done this morning: in his touch, his kisses. There was also some trepidation. The cautious part of him that had curled up inside itself five years ago made him question if he could really hold the interest of an experienced, sensual man like Aramis; that he was in danger of steering their precious friendship onto the rocks. But the longing, now that it was let off its leash, was too strong, too insistent. Aramis had nearly died yesterday, and second chances should not be squandered. He got to his feet and climbed the stairs, a little shakily at first but with increasing speed as he got nearer to the top. 

He put his key in the lock and as soon as he was inside, heard Aramis calling to him. 

"Athos, is that you?" 

The eagerness in the other's voice made a thrill course through him like a tidal wave. 

"It is," he said in response. At least, someone who looks like me, he thought with a quirky inner smile as he pushed through the inner doorway. Athos and Olivier de la Fere, comingled. Feeling more off balance, yet more connected to himself than he'd done in years. 

Aramis, dressed in soft breaches and a loose shirt, had been stretched out on the settle by the fireplace. He got to his feet as soon as Athos entered the room, wincing a little as he stood and walked across to greet his friend. 

"You're supposed to be resting!" Athos chided gently. When they had called in at the garrison earlier, Aramis had been signed off for a couple of days medical leave, to be followed by return to light duties. 

"I've done nothing but rest all afternoon!" Aramis protested mildly. "I've dozed. And read a little. And dreamed about you," he added, very close to Athos by now, and laid a hand on the other's arm. He shot his friend an under-the-lashes look: slightly flrtatious, and devastating to Athos's already invigorated sensibilities. "That counts as resting, surely?" 

"Well, that rather depends on what the dreams were about..." Athos observed with dry amusement as he snaked an arm around the other's waist. The invitation in Aramis's eyes was unequivocal: the same eager welcome that had been there this morning. So Athos answered it, hauling Aramis's body against his. 

"Well, they were mainly about you. But they weren't all exactly...restful," Aramis confessed, as he let his weight rest against Athos, settling into the embrace. "One of them was about you greeting me, like you did this morning..." 

It really was lethal, what Aramis could do with one little upward flicker of those eyes, Athos thought, as he succumbed to the lure, and pulled his companion in for a kiss. There was probably some sort of penance attached to it, he thought with hazy amusement as his tongue pressed between Aramis's eagerly parting lips, both to giver and recipient, that would involve saying a very great number of Hail Marys. 

They tasted each other thoroughly, in a gentler, less hurried way than they'd done that morning; the feeling of being encased in their own four walls increasing the intimacy. It was warm, and soft, and it felt right. 

When they parted for breath, Aramis regarded the other with a soft smile, tinged with relief. 

"I've been lying here wondering if you'd thought better of this. That what happened this morning was a mistake. A moment of madness or something--" 

Athos put a finger on Aramis's lips, stilling the litany of doubt. "As far as I'm concerned, it was a moment of sanity. " It was surprising yet heartening to him that Aramis, the experienced lover, had had thoughts that mirrored his own. "I regret nothing about this morning except that it had to end too soon." 

The knots of uncertainty that had formed and unravelled in Aramis's stomach all afternoon began to loosen, leaving only the thrill of expectation as he reached for Athos, their mouths joining again; brief, playful contacts of lips and kisses, a dance of delight at being able to transmute their hopes into reality at last. 

"I had been about to ask how you are feeling," Athos said when they parted for breath, stroking Aramis's back with care, mindful of his bruises. 

"Still sore, but somewhat improved for resting," Aramis replied, eyes twinkling. "And better, of course, for seeing you. I could make an argument for the healing power of kissing." 

Athos gave an amused snort. "Now, that is certainly not in the regiment's medical protocol!" It didn't stop him bestowing another kiss. 

"For medicinal purposes?" Aramis teased. 

"No. Because I wanted to." Athos favoured the other with a wonderfully lordly look that morphed into something soft and fonder. "Now--did they deliver the food?" 

"Yes, about quarter of an hour ago. It's keeping warm. Shall we eat now?" 

"Perhaps we better," Athos said, nipping at Aramis's lower lip, in the rich, velvety drawl that both amused and aroused Aramis. "Before I am tempted to dine on you!"

A shiver of lust went through Aramis and he reached for Athos again. "Well, dessert should be interesting!" He quipped as they broke from the kiss. He put his arm around Athos's waist as they walked over to the kitched area together.

Normally they shared the tasks of dishing out the food but Athos insisted that Aramis rested so he sat at the table while the other set the table and dished out the stew, also putting about bread and cheese and opening wine for them. The food from the inn was up to its usual high standards and they both enjoyed the meal as Athos spoke of his afternoon at the garrison, making Aramis smile at his description of the grumpiness of Porthos, forced to be an observer at combat practice due to his healing shoulder. 

"He has never taken well to being a bystander!" Aramis chuckled as he reached for bread to mop up the remnants of his stew. "And no doubt yesterday's events were the main topic of discussion?" 

"As you can well imagine," was Athos's acerbic reply. "The place is abuzz with gossip about Milady's part in it and her fall from grace. The palace also, I gather." 

"She casts a long shadow," Aramis observed wryly. "But maybe not for much longer..." He hesitated momentarily but remembered the resolution he'd made this afternoon. He'd had time for reflection and resolved that there were matters they needed to discuss. Athos's wife was one of them. 

"Milady..." He reached over and touched Athos's hand. "Do you still love her?" He saw the nobleman's expression darken. "If you don't want to talk about it, it's fine. I understand." 

"No, it's a fair question," Athos said after a moment's pause, his gaze lifting to lock with Aramis's. There was a rawness and honesty there that made Aramis feel a sharp twinge of empathy. The unfamiliarity of laying one's true feelings bare. He knew he would have to do some of that himself, before this day was over. 

"I'm not sure what I feel for her any more," Athos said quietly. "Or even if I can give a name to it. Not...love as such. Not in the way it once was." He paused, unused to articulating his feelings in this way but knowing he owed to it Aramis to try. "There is still sometimes a kind of ..pull. Despite all my rationality and better judgement. I suspect I will always feel some echo of it." 

"That is not exactly surprising," Aramis said softly, increasing his pressure on Athos's hand. "Whatever happened, she played a huge part in your life." 

"That's true. But I'll tell you something, Aramis." Athos's fingers curled around the other's hand. "I made a decision yesterday. As you say, she casts a long shadow: one that I have let myself stand in too long. Yesterday I allowed my inability to deal with her--with the things she did--to prevent me from being where I should have been." 

"Athos, no! We've been over this," Aramis protested. "It was not your fault. You couldn’t have know about Marmion--" 

"That still doesn’t make it right. The point is that I should have been there with the people to whom I owe love and loyalty. Because of my weakness over her, I wasn't. So I decided, No more!" The hazel eyes glowed almost green with the intensity of the emotion vibrating through his being. "God's blood! Even the names we know each other by now are not our own. And I am not who I was--because I let her change me!" 

"You lost your brother; your last remaining family. I cannot imagine anything more painful." Aramis's voice thickened and he found himself almost wanting to weep. "You shouldered the blame for something that was never your fault..." 

"That is a matter of opinion," Athos said with a touch of chagrin. "But the past, as we were saying last night, is another country. " He placed his other hand over Aramis's. "I have been like one half-dead these past few years, thanks to her. And I am weary of it. I would rather like to find out what it feels like to be in the land of the living." He raised his friend's hand to his lips, and kissed it. "With a bit of help from you?" 

The light in the other's eyes sent a tremor of pure emotion coursing through Aramis. He leant across the table and fastened his lips onto Athos's, trying to put some of what he was feeling into the kiss. When they parted his eyes glistened and his voice sounded shaky in his own ears. 

"It is always a pleasure to be of help to the people we love." 

There it was, out in the open air. Love. A word with a wealth of contexts, from deep to casual. Both knew it was not the latter and were filled with a quiet, awed delight, communicated in they smiling looks they exchanged as they applied themselves to finishing their food. 

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Once they were done with eating and the dishes cleared away to be cleaned later they took their wine goblets over the settle and sat down together. Athos cast a glance at the book lying on the table in front of them. 

"Love poetry?" He murmured, with a teasing cant of his eyebrow, draping an arm around Aramis's shoulders. 

Aramis leaned against him, enjoying the closeness. "It suited my mood." The flrtatious twist of his lips invited and received another kiss. Taste of Athos. He savoured it, as their tongues mapped the contours of each other's mouths. They parted and drank a little more of their wine, their eyes never leaving each other. 

"This morning..." Athos ventured, "you implied that you'd ...wanted this for a long time?" 

"Forever. Or what feels like forever." There was something almost youthful in the tentative look Athos gave him, so different from his usual directness that made Aramis smile with great tenderness. "And I will tell you about it, I promise. But there's something I need you to know." He gathered himself inwardly, eyes growing even darker as he determined to stick with the resolutions he'd made earlier: that if he and Athos were to become intimate there must be no secrets hidden away to trip them up in the future. "This afternoon, I had time to think over the things we spoke of last night. You were right in everything you said. About past mistakes, and about the Dauphin. However...there was a time I let myself believe that I might have some small part in his life. One day not long after she'd been appointed as the Dauphin's nursemaid, I caught Lady Marguerite looking at me with interest, and found there was a spark between us." 

Athos was already ahead of him. 

"You began an affair with her," he said flatly. 

"Yes. She had come to court primarily to make a good match and like many of her kind, was not averse to a little diversion until a marriage came along. And sometimes, when I was in her room, I got the chance to be near to the Dauphin." He flushed, shamefaced, as his gaze fell to his wine goblet. 

"Good God, Aramis!" Athos barked angrily. "The risks involved in that! If anyone made a connection between you and the Dauphin!" 

"I know. I know, But I managed to persuade myself that we were being discreet and that it was a chance worth taking, because the opportunity would not last for long. Marguerite would move on and he would be surrounded by more people." 

"It is NOT an acceptable risk, under any circumstances," Athos said vehemently. "Imagine if someone like Rochefort found out. And this girl...." He struggled to keep his voice level, also battling to hold back jealousy, penned in for years--not so easy now after the intimacy they'd begun to share. "Please do not tell me that you feel any more for her than you feel any more for her than the usual pull you feel in these situations!" 

"No," Aramis admitted quietly, raising his gaze at last. "She's attractive, sweet-natured, and I like her company. But...no." 

"Then if you have any regard for her, and yourself, you will end this now." 

"I am resolved to do just that," Aramis assured him. "I know I am doing her an injustice. Please, just hear me out. Yesterday, when I held the Dauphin in my arms for that short time, the truth of it all came home to me. How hopeless it is. I will talk to Marguerite as soon as I am able." 

"Now, that, at least, is a good decision," Athos said, trying to get a grip on his own emotions, knowing that look in Aramis's eyes, in his demeanour. He meant what he said. 

"I've been foolhardy over this, and you have every right to be angry with me. But I thought that if we are to take this further," he took hold of Athos's hand, grasping it firmly, "You ought to know the truth." He swallowed hard, then continued, his words tinged with a raw, almost painful candour. "Sometimes, I do things impulsively. Don't always make the wisest of choices. I think that since Savoy, there are times when the need to take a risk overwhelms me. Maybe to prove to myself that I'm still alive." 

Athos had recognised this in Aramis for years; had seen the same thing in in soldiers who'd survived similar experiences. There'd been times when he accepted great risks himself because what was so special about him, that he should be alive when his brother wasn't? But he'd never hear Aramis say it so directly or honestly and it moved him greatly. 

"You're not the only one who's made wrong choices." He reached over and cupped on side of Aramis's face in his hand. "But we said last night that we could help each other, and I think that's still true. I predicted that you'd drive me to distraction. But you'll never," he stroked Aramis's cheek, voice low and husky with the need to convey the veracity of his words, "Drive me away." 

Aramis's eyes looked darker than ever, full of gratitude for Athos's understanding, full of longing, full of love. Unable to do otherwise, they drew together like magnets; arms encircling, mouths locking. The kisses grew deeper, as they had that morning; full of tenderness and hunger. Arousal also stirred, flowing through their veins like liquid fire, making their phalluses throb. Caught up in it, Athos embraced Aramis just a little too hard and sensed the involuntary wince in their kiss as the bruised torso protested. 

"Sorry," Athos said, easing back a little. "It might be a statement of the obvious" he added, trying to get some control over his fast-thudding heartbeat, "But what we are doing here is a crime in the eyes of the law. And carries great risks. Are you sure you want to take them?" He knew he had to say the words, just as Aramis had had to tell him about Marguerite. But he already knew the answer, had felt it is their kisses, even before Aramis said emphatically, "There are some things worth risking everything for. This is one." 

"For me also." Athos leaned in for another kiss, being careful how he held Aramis, trying to keep it a little gentler. "Yet you said this morning," he murmured in between incursions of his tongue into Aramis's mouth, "That you'd...waited years. Was... telling me what you felt...not a risk you considered taking?" 

Aramis pulled back a little and regarded his lover with a heart-piercing directness. "More times than you'll ever know. I think I wanted you from the first time I saw you; was drawn to you, and came to love you. " He brushed Athos' hair back from his forehead with a caressing motion. "But I didn't have to know you long to realise that you'd been hurt very deeply and by a woman. And that even if you wanted me in that way you might not be ready for it. By then, you and Porthos had become my family; my refuge. And fucking up our brotherhood without being sure--. No." He shook his head and said vehemently, "That was not an acceptable risk for me ." Then that smile broke through, with all its sunlit power. "Until this morning, when you made me sure. And now, do you think," his eyes gleamed, teasingly and hopefully, "That we could take this..upstairs, where it is a little more comfortable?" 

""Are you sure?" Athos said with concern. "In case you'd forgotten, you did fall off a building yesterday." 

"As if I could forget!" Aramis gave a rueful grin as he shifted in his seat. "Yes, I'm sure. I may be a little battered but everything is in working order." He returned Athos's fond, remonstrating look with a flirtatious flicker of his lashes. "I'm not talking about swinging from the chandeliers!" He placed his hand on Athos's chest, over his heart ,and his tone grew softer and more serious. "But I would very much like to hold you and touch you and show you a little of how much I love you." 

Athos knew he couldn't resist that look, with all its sweet sincerity. But he was adamant that he would take extreme care, no matter how pressing his own need. 

"All right then. Why don't we?" he said softly as he climbed to his feet and extended a hand to help Aramis up. "Besides, we don't have any chandeliers here. Unless you had thought of repairing to the Louvre. Which would definitely," he added with wonderfully deadpan drollness, "be classed as 'risky'!" 

Aramis let out a burst of laughter and grasped his rib cage. "Oh-God! Will you please give me due notice before you hit me with that lethal sense of humour of yours! You wield it like you wield your sword. It bloody hurts when I laugh!" 

Athos pulled him carefully into his arms again but their bodies were pressed close enough so they could feel each other's arousal. He pushed back a lock of thick, dark hair and placed a kiss on Aramis's earlobe. 

"I will give you two weeks written warning next time." The tenderness of the gesture, coupled with the rich, drily teasing tone, sent fire coursing through Aramis's body, till the longing owned him completely, and he saw it reflecting back at him in Athos's eyes. 

"Until my ribs are less sore will be fine," he murmured smilingly and they put their arms around each other's waists as they made their way with care towards the bedrooms upstairs. 

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	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Vera d'Auriac, ScoutLover and all those other nice people who encouraged me to finish this which has been hanging round in my conscience since I got bitten by the bug last Spring

The glow of late evening sun filtered through the window, painting Athos's bedroom in gold and amber tones. They had made for it because, as Aramis had pointed out, grinning playfully, it had the "bigger bed", on which they were now sitting, locked into a close embrace. 

"This morning," Aramias said as his fingers made caressing motions on the back of Athos's neck," you hinted that you'd...also wanted this for a long time?" 

"Yes," Athos admitted. "And kept it to myself for reasons not unlike yours. I think I have always wanted you. " He leant over, lips pressing against the other's again, tongue invading his mouth; trying to convey the emotions thrumming within him in the kiss. "But my last excursion into love and passion had been a disaster. I was reluctant to repeat it. You may have to bear with me. I am somewhat out of practice at showing what I really feel." 

That Athos, who could put on such a display of confidence to the world, like shiny armour, could say such things made the tender solicitude in Aranmis's heart swell to overflowing. 

They kissed again, their mouths opening to each other, every caress of lips and tongues driving them to deepened the contact. Desire flared and their cocks throbbed harder, pressing against the confines of their braies.  
"Oh God how I want you..." Athos's voice grew deeper, huskier with longing and he pulled one of Aramis's hands down to his groin. 

"Yes. Quite a lot, it seems!" Aramis gave a delighted smile. "Which is very gratifying," he whispered seductively, kneading the hardness of Athos's arousal through the leather. "Since it is the stuff of my dreams... These past few weeks," he continued, undoing the buttons on the other's breaches, "Some nights I have lain in my own room... " His fingers the outline of his lover's cock, "And I have grown hard, just from knowing you were so close by...." He leant down and kissed the base of Athos's throat, "And finished myself off, thinking of you lying here..." 

Athos let out an involuntary groan, The image of Aramis secretly pleasuring himself next door, added to the fingers still working on his cock and tongue lapping at his throat, sent mounting ripples of pleasure surging through his body. "Then let us," he almost growled, as he put his head back and exposed more of his throat to the delicious nuzzling of Aramis's lips, "get out of these bloody clothes and make it real!" 

Aramis gave a laughing nod of approval and they parted for a moment, Athos bending to tug off his boots. 

Aramis lifted the bottom of his shirt, grunting as he came to tug it over his head, bruised body protesting at the movement. Athos came to his aid and completed the removal of the shirt. 

"This is not how I pictured our first time together." The marksman gave a self-deprecating grin, conscious of his bruises and the not quite healed abrasions on his face. "That I'd look so...battered!" 

"But...serviceable!" Athos commented, lips twitching as he busied himself removing his shirt and breaches.  
Unbuttoning his own breaches Aramis threw his friend a look of puzzled amusement. 

"'Battered but serviceable,'" Athos explained as he aided Aramis in taking off his breaches. "It was d'Artagnan described me in Pinon." He leant in for a kiss before pausing to collect their clothing and put it over the back of a chair. 

"Way with a pithy phrase, our Pup!" Aramis chortled as he stretched out on the bed, rolling onto his side. Leaning up on one elbow, he added teasingly, "I am certainly the former, but also, I hope the latter. Though not too pretty at present..." 

Athos had returned and climbed up onto the bed to join him. "Aramis," he said, quite seriously, taking the other into his arms again. "You are the most beautiful man I've ever seen. A few bruises cannot mar that." 

Aramis had had a goodly share of compliments in his time, but because this was Athos, whose gaze was devouring him as though he were some kind of precious treasure, he felt himself blushing deeply, like some callow youth. They rolled into an embrace, pressing the length of each other's bodies, skin on skin, separated only by the material of their braies. Their erections butted, growing harder as mouths joined; kisses becoming more fiery. Mindful of embracing Aramis too hard because of his bruising, Athos rolled Aramis gently onto his back. 

Desire mingled with concern in the hazel eyes, nearly undoing Aramis. He reached up and brushed the palm of his hand over Athos's nipple. The nobleman gasped in pleasure as the hand continued to travel, down to his slim waist and over his hips. Aramis had always loved the wiry strength of the other's body and unashamedly enjoying himself, allowing his hand to glide over firm buttocks and to Athos's braies, unfastening them and pushing them down. Freed from its confines, Athos's cock sprang upwards and Aramis continued to stroke it. 

"I bet you have no idea," he almost purred, "Just how desirable you are." His eyes never left Athos's face, revelling in every moment, from the surprised flush brought on by his comment, to the passion he'd always suspected lurked within the other, displayed for him in such sweetly naked vulnerability. 

Athos could feel all control fraying, disintegrating, as pleasure overwhelmed him; those sensitive fingers working their magical invocation, bringing him to rampant hardness. Desiring to reciprocate, to touch Aramis, he reached to unfasten his companion's undergarments, pushing them down over the sweet curves of his arse. As he wrapped his hand around Aramis's organ, overawed by the evidence of the other's desire for him, pulsing hard and hot under his trembling fingers, he began to stroke, a little uncertainly at first, then more firmly and with greater confidence as Aramis let out a moan of pleasure. 

"Athos...oh yes...that's so good..." 

"Tell me...tell me what you want..." Athos managed to whisper, feeling himself dissolving from within : Aramis's caresses, the needy passion in his voice reverberated through the nobleman's blood, feeding his own swiftly mounting lust. 

"Truly? You inside me--or me in you." Aramis muttered huskily. "But for now--" Their gazes met and Aramis gave the other a meltingly beseeching smile. "Your mouth on me. Please?" 

Fantasies, long tucked away in hidden corners, came tumbling into Athos's mind . His already insistent erection jerked upwards; he was almost ready to come just from the thought of the intimate request. Unable to speak, he nodded, and pulled away, onto his knees. He tugged off his braies, also helping Aramis to properly remove his. Then he leant over, looking down at the lithe, beautiful body, the handsome face aglow with need. This was the landscape of his longing, and he pressed a kiss onto the base of Aramis's throat, another onto the edge of his collar bone, then lowered his mouth onto an already pert nipple that came even more gratifyingly erect under his swirling tongue. Aramis gasped harshly, his pelvis lifting, and he let out a gloriously uninhibited moan of delight as Athos flicked his tongue in the other direction. 

Aramis could feel himself coming apart within as the eager but somehow reverent touch of Athos's lips on his body, drove him wild with pleasure. He had know from the way that his body had reacted this morning that this is was how it would be their for their first time. This was too deeply desired, too long denied, for him to be able to stop himself coming to the edge very quickly. And oh how he wanted that mouth to linger on his nipple, but how he also wanted that mouth on his cock, and his own on his lover's... 

"Please, love..." he urged, aware but uncaring of the shameless need in his voice. "Taste me before I come....Let me taste you too..." 

Athos couldn't muster any kind of coherent reply; just a guttural growl of need and assent as he shifted so he could lie head to tail with Aramis, leaning in to grasp the other's organ with trembling fingers, stroking its length from base to tip. It leapt in his hand, full of springy vigour and hardness. 

Distant memories called from the forbidden zone to which they'd been banished. The affair with the boy at the summer fencing school. Those few intense, pleasurable encounters before his father's early death, when he was just the Vicomte Olivier, a young man exploring his burgeoning sexuality. Not the Comte de la Fere, burdened by responsibility for the estate, his younger brother's well-being, then the journey into marriage, and life-changing disaster... 

He reached deep within and for a moment, allowed himself to connect with that earlier self. He flicked his tongue over the throbbing vein at the head of Aramis's cock and was rewarded with a drop of pre-cum seeping from the slit. It glistened invitingly and he lapped at it , letting his tongue curl caressingly round the head. He was rewarded with a lively throb from the erect phallus, firming to maximum hardness under his ministrations; by a groan so deep that it sounded like it had come from the very roots of Aramis's soul. 

Allowing memory and instinct to guide him, he let his mouth close over the head; getting used to the sensation again, glorying in the feel of it. All the more potent because this was Aramis: his beloved, his most cherished, desired and secret fantasy. He forced himself to relax, control his over-fast breathing, taking a little more of Aramis's cock into his mouth, then began to exert a gentle suction. The mere idea of what he was doing was enough to increase the power of his own arousal, bringing him dangerously close to the edge of the precipice. Then he felt Aramis's hand take hold of his cock, and a warm mouth close over his balls. The shock and delight of that tongue, caressing his testicles made him lose his hold on Aramis's cockhead momentarily. He entered an altered state, heard himself begging, imploring, "Aramis....please...ohgodyes....more...." 

He somehow managed to get his mouth round Aramis's phallus again, increasing the pressure as he tried to envelope more of the cockhead. 

Aramis, his cock engorged to the point that it was almost painful, strove to reciprocate the pleasure that was coursing through him in spiralling, mounting waves, fuelled by the reality of Athos's mouth on hi, exerting such sweet, sensual pressure. So much better than those illicit little dreams he'd had lying next door. *Oh god, darling, you've done this before* he thought in some far corner of his mind as the pressure in his own balls gathered, and the intimate, glorious reality of it, more potent than the strongest of drugs, roared through him with devastating power, making him come, his seed gushing forth into Athos's throat. 

There was a deeply ingrained part in him that needed to give as well as receive pleasure, so that even as he rode the rip tide of his climax, made him reach for Athos's cock, closing his mouth over the flaring head. 

Athos felt himself go headlong over the edge of the precipice, driven by the dual stimulation of the mouth on his phallus and the gift of Aramis's seed, spilling into his own mouth. The deepest and most secret of fantasies, allowed occasionally on the edge of sleep, or when downing another glass of wine to drown out the memory of her transgressions, of his own....Yearning for the intimacy, for the taste, of someone who really loved him... 

He felt the sensations gathering; the unstoppable tightening in his balls. The river of passion deluged him. Every fibre, every nerve ending felt screamingly, singingly alive as his hips bucked and he spilled his seed into the welcoming warmth of Aramis's mouth. For a moment he almost felt like he was blacking out. Part of his mind recognised that it was the power of sensations, too long denied but on another level he felt as though a scintilla of light emerged in the darkness. A pinprick of illumination, like the glimmer of the sun, coming out yesterday from the shadow of the moon, until it expanded, chasing away the pseudo-night and flooding his being with warm, inner radiance. 

Almost without knowing how it happened he found himself lying in Aramis's arms, body held safe as he came back to some sort of reality, limbs and torso trembling with the aftershock of climax. Then engaging in a kiss, the salty-sweet taste of his own come mingling with that of his lover: a unique and intoxicating flavour that he knew he would want to taste again and again. 

Glowing dark eyes looked deep into his, as a rather awed but happy Aramis caressed the back of his neck, pressed their shaking bodies together. "I'd say we'd just taken a big step back towards the land of the living," the marksman murmured smilingly. 

"I wouldn't argue with that." Athos reached for his lover, sealing the moment with a kiss, wanting to print every precious moment on his consciousness. "I think it's a place I could get used to." 

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